Valar mentioned in this part:
Valier: female Valar (plural)
Aulë: The first and greatest Smith, master of Earth and of Steel.
Mandos: Judge and Doomsman; Keeper of the Halls of the Dead
Manwë: King of the World, and Ruler of the Air
Varda: Queen of the Stars, and the greatest of the female Valar; wife of Manwë.
Nienna: Queen of Tears
Yavanna: Queen of Growing Things
Irmo: Master of Visions and Dreams
The tale of Maedhros and Fingon is also from the Silmarillion, though the suggestion that they were anything more than friends is mere fan speculation.
Legolas woke in a far different place. The sky glowered a dangerous purple and there was thunder in the air. He was fully clothed again, and even his fighting knives were restored to him, though not his bow and quiver.
There was a harsh, rhythmic clanging coming from a little distance away. Legolas pulled himself stiffly to his feet and went to investigate, limping a little. First he noticed that he was on a high, almost featureless plateau, barren of everything but rock, and falling away in steep cliffs on at least three sides. Then sparks and flames drew his eye to the smith at the far edge. He was a brawny, heavily bearded creature, short in stature: a Dwarf. Legolas felt a sudden pang - if only his verbal sparring partner and good comrade Gimli were here!
The Dwarf paused in his hammering and looked up at the Elf. There was power burning in his eyes. Not a Dwarf, then, but the maker of all Dwarves, the Vala Aulë, master of earth and steel.
"There you are, Thanduilion," he said, pumping the bellows on his small fire. "I much mislike this business, so let us have it done and over with. Give me one of your hands." Legolas hesitated. "Either one, it matters not."
Legolas proffered his left hand. "The left, eh?" went on Aulë conversationally as he hammered a steel cuff skilfully closed around Legolas' left wrist without actually burning the fair skin, though the metal was very hot. "For Maedhros it was the right, or so I heard." He plunged Legolas' hand, cuff and all, into a pot of water where it hissed itself cool in a second.
"Maedhros," murmured Legolas apprehensively. Like all Elves he knew the terrible story of that troubled Elf, suspended by the wrist from an unscalable cliff by the first Dark Lord. He had hung there in unutterable torment, some said for years, unable to free himself and unable to die. He was not released until Fingon, foe of his family, but friend to him (and more, some whispered), was borne up to him by a friendly eagle sent by Manwë. And even then, Maedhros could only be freed by the severing of his hand.
Aulë gently pushed Legolas to the point where the length of chain attached to his cuff disappeared over the side of the cliff.
"Am I to share Maedhros' fate, my Lord?" asked Legolas, suppressing his trepidation.
"No two beings share exactly the same fate," replied the Vala cryptically. "Over you go, then!" And with a firm shove at the Elf's back, he toppled Legolas over the edge.
Legolas' yelp of surprise became a cry of pain as his full weight was suspended from his injured shoulder. Immediately he grasped the shackles with both hands and began to climb. His heart sank as he reached the spot where the other end of the chain was solidly anchored in the sheer cliff face. It was so ingeniously simple and deadly. The end of his chain was fastened so far below the cliff edge that not even by the most acrobatic exertions could he possibly clamber his way up, even if the smooth rock offered a toehold. Beneath him, the ground was distantly visible, a comfortless, featureless plain stretching away to merge at the horizon with the lowering indigo sky.
At the edge of the cliff, Aulë's bearded face appeared, his expression unreadable. "Fare thee well, brave little Elf," he said, and disappeared. And Legolas was left alone with his pain.
The Elf lowered himself as gently as he could back to the end of the chain, and tried to find the most comfortable position to hold. But there was none. For the first time he found himself truly envying his Ranger's frail mortality. If Legolas were Human, he would soon perish here - from exposure, from hunger, from thirst. But none of those would kill an Elf. He had been put here to suffer, and suffer he would. Like Maedhros.
Legolas' gaze travelled down once more past his feet to the unattainable ground. And he realized he had something Maedhros did not have. Two things in fact.
His knives.
Carefully he extracted one of them from its sheath, and began to poke and explore his fetters with its tip, seeking a weakness he could force apart. There was nothing. Aulë was the greatest of master smiths, and there was not a thin link in the chain nor a feeble point in all the shaped metal between Legolas' reddened wrist and the uncompromising bolt driven deep into the cliff face. Growing fatigued and angry, Legolas began to hack away with all his force at the cuff, at the chain, at the very cliff face. His knife shattered into four pieces that fell with mocking laziness to the ground, leaving but a useless hilt in the Elf's hand. With a cry of rage, he flung it away, and paid the price for the abrupt movement with an agonizing stab of pain through his wounded shoulder.
Legolas was determined not to weep. If it was necessary for him to endure this for Aragorn's sake, then he would endure it. He would not gratify his tormentors with any more display of weakness. There had been enough of that; this test he would not fail.
And yet there was moisture on his face. As he raised his free hand unbelievingly to his cheeks, and looked at the black clouds scudding ever closer through the darkening sky, Legolas realized that the Valar had not yet exhausted their cruel ingenuity. The rain came lightly at first, spattering his face and hands, but soon it turned to a ferocious downpour, chilling him through and soaking his clothes so he hung more heavily in his bonds.
Then the wind started, at first merely swaying him back and forth, and then, as the tempest grew, slamming him savagely into the cliff face or twisting him around in the air and wrapping him in vicious knots with the iron chain. Legolas' moans of torment were swallowed in the crack of the thunder and howl of the gale. "Lord Manwë, have mercy, I beg you!" gasped the Elf, but this time it seemed his prayer went unheard. He must endure his full meed of suffering.
When the storm finally ended, as all storms must, Legolas was left dangling limply by his abraded wrist, no longer aware of his individual hurts but simply thrumming in pain and wishing he could let go of his last thread of consciousness. Eventually he opened his eyes, and reaching slowly and with difficulty, pulled out his remaining knife. He contemplated it muzzily. Elves could die of battle-wounds, but Legolas truly did not know whether he could die from such a wound self-inflicted. He had never heard of any Elf committing suicide, so unthinkable was it amongst his people. And yet, if he had to endure this degree of agony for any length of time, he would surely go insane.
Legolas thrust the knife roughly back in its sheath. He would not die, and he would not go insane. He would not fail.
And so, rather than go mad, Legolas began to sing. He sang of the Fellowship's Quest that had brought him into Aragorn's constant company, and he sang of his own pure, boundless love, but mostly he sang of the Man. Every adored detail was itemized, every characteristic gesture described and praised. The Ranger's prowess with his sword occupied Legolas for twenty-nine full stanzas. And it seemed as if the singing of the song returned some strength to the Elf, for his voice rang ever louder and clearer across the plain as he went on.
From the horizon appeared a small, dark-clad figure, so distant that only a lover's eye could have identified him. Legolas smiled painfully, assuming his mind was playing tricks on him, and sang on in praise of Aragorn's gentle, healing hands and even gentler heart. "He is brave but not boastful, humble but not weak; he inspires devotion even while not believing he deserves it," sang Legolas proudly. "His own distress he suffers without complaint, but he cannot endure that of another. His body is strong and beautiful, hardy and hale, but oh, so fragile, so fragile. Would that I could enfold him in my own body, averting every arrow with my flesh, unto the end of his days! But he will not have it so, and I honour him for that, I honour him..."
The figure on the plain, far from disappearing like any other mirage, was running, hastening ever closer to him, and now Legolas could hear Aragorn's anxious cry of "Legolas! 'Lasse!" borne to him on the fitful wind. The Elf ceased his song in wonder.
"Estel? Are you to be my Fingon?"
He thought of how Fingon had been forced to cut off Maedhros' hand to free him, and said aloud, "That, and much more than that, could I endure from you, my love, my Estel." For once freed by the song, the words of love could not be silenced again.
Now Aragorn neared the foot of the steep cliff, and Legolas looked all around the sky, praying fervently to Manwë that he would send an eagle once more to assist in the rescue. When the Elf looked down again, he cried out in horror.
Aragorn was mired in quicksand, up to his knees and sinking rapidly. Legolas saw the flash of Anduril as Aragorn pulled it out and tried to use it to reach solid ground. But the sword dropped uselessly into the hungry sand, and Aragorn stopped struggling as it became apparent to him and to his helpless watcher that movement would only steal from him the few seconds of life he had remaining. As the greedy earth swallowed his shoulders, Aragorn leaned back his head seeking a last glimpse of the Elf.
Legolas roused himself from his momentary paralysis of horror. Pulling out his remaining knife, he slashed clean through his left wrist. There was the sickening crunch of steel through bone, a brief shower of blood, and then Legolas was falling, falling to the foot of the cliff.
He rolled instinctively as he landed. Half-blinded by the pain and no longer truly able to think, he stumbled by sheer will on miraculously unbroken legs the few steps that separated him from the quicksand; he groped for Aragorn, and felt him stir. But the Elf's right hand could get no grip and his left was useless. The Man slipped out of his grasp.
Suddenly a very tall being all in black stood beside him. "This is not the way," he said in a low, tuneful voice. He reached into the sand and effortlessly pulled forth Aragorn by the scruff of the neck, dropping him carelessly in a crumpled heap on solid earth.
Legolas looked up into a stern and beautiful face, serene and implacable, with deep blue eyes that seemed to look far beyond him. The pain had diminished enough to let the Elf form a few words. "My Lord Mandos," he murmured. "Please, may I go to him?"
With a slight wave of his hand, the great Judge and Doomsman, keeper of the Gates of Death, granted permission. Legolas knelt by Aragorn and stroked his sand-streaked face. The Man's eyes fluttered open. "'Lasse," he whispered. "Your hair..." And then, "And oh... your hand!" The Man struggled to his knees, seeking to see, to caress, to heal.
"Enough," said Mandos, and he seized Aragorn and pulled him away roughly, both hands trapped behind him. As Legolas got to his feet the ground cracked wide open before him, leaving him on one side of a deep chasm and Aragorn and the Vala on the other. The gorge extended as far as the eye could see in both directions, and from far below arose the unmistakable red light and sulphuric smell of the World's angry depths.
Mandos pushed Aragorn to stand at the very edge of the chasm, still holding him firmly captive.
"Well, Elf," he said, "you knew it would come to this, did you not? Do you now offer me your life in hopes I will spare his?"
"No, 'Lasse!" Aragorn cried out, twisting futilely in Mandos' hold. And Legolas hesitated on the brink.
"My Lord," he addressed the Vala meekly. "I am told that you yourself have foreseen a great destiny for this Man. Will you not spare him so he may achieve it?"
"Do you prevaricate, Elf? Do you presume to try bargaining with me?" The Vala had not raised his voice, but the words thundered dangerously. "Nay, no more talk. Make your decision."
Legolas at last understood all that he had been taught on his journey. He knelt and bowed his head. "It is not my decision to make, my Lord Mandos," he said humbly. "I give my life if you require it. But I beg of you - spare him!"
Perhaps the Vala's immortal features softened slightly at the Elf's plea, but he said firmly, "Nay, it must be thus," and seizing Aragorn again by the scruff of the neck, he held him out over the fires of destruction and dropped him in.
Aragorn made no sound as he went to his death. The piteous scream that rent the air came from Legolas. The Elf curled himself into a small ball on the ground and sobbed uncontrollably. He had failed every test, and his love had paid the price.
When Legolas ran out of breath for weeping, he became vaguely aware of comforting hands on his shoulders and hair. "There there, little Elf," said Yavanna. "It is not as bad as you think," added Nienna on his other side. "Truly it is not."
Legolas could not conceive what they meant. Estel was dead - how could there be any consolation for that? As they helped him to his feet and wiped his face with a soft kerchief, Legolas realized they were no longer on the windswept plain, but in a magnificent palace. "Where am I?" he asked.
"On Mount Taniquetil, in the house of Manwë and Varda," Yavanna told him. "The Lady Varda will speak with you now."
"Elbereth," breathed Legolas, giving the Lady her Elvish name. It was to Elbereth that Elves addressed nearly all their prayers, and told all their deepest and most heartfelt desires. Could he plead with her to reverse Mandos' terrible decree and somehow let Aragorn live?
The two Valier ushered him into a room with curtains pulled back from a large glass door at the far end. Standing at the door, looking out, was a tall, queenly figure. She had her back turned to Legolas. It was an ill omen.
"Bring him here," she said in a melodic, curiously familiar voice. She did not turn to face them.
Yavanna and Nienna each gave Legolas a consoling kiss on the cheek as they left him with the Queen of the Stars. There was a short silence before she said, "I am satisfied, Legolas. You are indeed worthy of him."
"What matters that now?" he asked bluntly, desolately. "I failed every test, and he has been taken from me."
"Did you truly believe you could stand against the Immortal Powers, Legolas?" asked the Lady gently, still contemplating the stars on the other side of the glass. "Nay, it was not in the completion of the tasks but in the way you struggled, and listened, and learned, that you have proved yourself."
And still Legolas lowered his head and grieved, and asked in a low tone, "But to what purpose?"
"Oh my poor little Elf," she said. "You have not properly understood. No wonder you weep so piteously." And now at last she turned and walked to him. Legolas' jaw dropped in astonishment and dread. The Queen of the Valar wore Arwen's face.
"I am not surprised that you see her likeness in me," she said. "I am very fond of my Evenstar, and they say as she has grown into full womanhood, she resembles me more and more. And, too, I have been much besieged with prayers from her, my little StarMaiden, ever since your Fellowship set out. Prayers for Aragorn's well-being and yours. 'Let them love, Elbereth,' she beseeches me. 'It is better that way; their love will keep them strong and safe together.'"
And Legolas' heart smote him for Arwen's lost dreams as well as his own.
"Nay, nay, little Elf, I told you - you have not understood. Give me your hand and I will show you. No, the other hand."
Legolas proffered the stump of his left wrist and in amazement saw the hand restored under the Lady's touch. Hesitantly he curled his fingers around hers. She led him out onto a wide mountaintop balcony enfolded in the brilliance of the night stars.
"Come forth," she said to a figure in the shadows, and the Ranger emerged, looking dazed.
"Estel!" cried Legolas, but Varda shushed him, and took Aragorn gently by the right hand.
"He does not hear us," she said, "and he sees only you, thinking you are but an image in his sleeping dream. He will not remember this night's adventures when he wakes, but you will tell him all, will you not?"
"Aye, my lady, I will. But I still do not understand..."
"Time means nothing to Mandos, little Elf. He sees the present, the past and the future all in the same instant. What he showed you was what must be, not what is now. For we cannot make your King immortal, Legolas. It is not in the Great Song to change such things." Legolas nodded sadly. She turned troubled eyes on him. "Moreover you must know that my little StarMaiden will not be flung aside; indeed she will be greatly rewarded for her generosity of spirit. And Legolas," she added in a grave tone, "she will still be the mother of his line, make no mistake." Legolas nodded soberly once more. He did not ask otherwise. "And perhaps also mother of the line of Thranduilion," went on the Vala, caressing his shoulder lightly and smiling at Legolas' patent astonishment at the idea.
"But how?" he started.
"You must leave that to the Valar, little Elf. Fear not, we will manage all, and your World will learn to sanction, as we do. There are some loves for which even the plans of the Valar must be amended, and it seems this extraordinary Man has two of them."
Legolas looked over at the dreaming face of the King to be. "He has a great heart," he said. "It can bear two loves within it." He lifted her hand to his lips and looked into the luminous eyes that were so like Arwen's. "I thank you for your great kindness, my Lady."
She smiled and said, "When the time comes and my little Evenstar has taken her place in my sky, I will place the two of you there also, circling each other forever, and folk in future worlds will gaze upwards and name you The Lovers, wondering about your story."
Then she drew back a little, joining Legolas' left hand to Aragorn's right. "Take your place now at his right hand, where you belong, little Elf," she said. She faded into nothingness, and with her the great balcony, so that they stood together in the midst of the sky, unfettered and together. Aragorn turned to Legolas, murmuring, "My 'Lasse - my love." And as they kissed amongst the stars, nigh swooning with joy, Legolas felt as if he were dissolving too, merging into Aragorn as if they would never be anything but one being again.
Legolas opened his eyes to find both the stars and Aragorn were still there.
"Ai, I have wakened you," said Aragorn, withdrawing his hand from its gentle exploration around the bandage on Legolas' shoulder. "It is still deep night, but I was having nightmares - I cannot recall about what, but they were terrible - so I came to see how you fare."
"I too have been dreaming, Estel," said Legolas earnestly. "Oh, and Estel, what a dream it was, though I fear it was naught but wishes and delusion! I dreamed the Valar tested me, and even though I failed wretchedly, still they sanctioned our love."
Aragorn smiled wistfully in the blackness. "That was a dream indeed, 'Lasse. Would that it could be so." He touched the shoulder again. "How does this feel?"
"Comfortable enough."
"I will look at it when dawn comes, then."
"It is hours till dawn, and I will not sleep again. May I tell you the dream?"
Aragorn paused. "Aye," he said. "I would greatly like to hear it." He settled himself with his back to a tree, and Legolas scrabbled into his arms, leaning back against the Ranger's shoulder before he could protest. Not that the Ranger was much inclined to do so.
"I was caught up in a great storm," began Legolas.
And so he told Aragorn the whole tale, sparing no detail, not even to save his own blushes. When he came at last to the end, Aragorn leaned his cheek against the beloved yellow head, and said again with a sigh, "Would that it could be so."
Legolas looked up at the fading stars. "Do you suppose if we pray hard enough to Elbereth, she might make it come true?" he mused. "Estel, you have been crushing my left hand for the past fifteen minutes."
"Sorry," said Aragorn, loosing it, but just a little. He too looked at the sky and sent a silent petition to Elbereth. "Dawn is coming," he observed unhappily. "I should look at your wound."
Legolas reluctantly let himself be pushed off Aragorn's chest, and then suffered his shoulder to be inspected.
"It is healing well," Aragorn told him, running his fingers idly down Legolas' bare left arm. "'Lasse, what is this?" All the way round Legolas' left wrist, like a bracelet, there was a vivid scar. "But Elves do not scar..." said Aragorn slowly. He could not keep the hope out of his voice. "Legolas, could it be? It must be a sign from the Valar..."
"My dream was true! Estel, it is a sign my dream was true!" Legolas felt like shouting and jumping and running. Unable to hold still, he leapt to his feet and sprinted to the top of the rocky outcrop that guarded their camp, followed closely by a laughing Aragorn. From their high perch, they could see the sun just beginning to rise in the East, casting new light on the land whose fate still lay trembling so much in the balance.
Suddenly serious, Legolas turned to Aragorn and said, "It is also a reminder from the Valar, I think."
"Of what?"
"That I may be Firstborn, but I am not invulnerable." Aragorn understood immediately. "For our sake, and also for Arwen's," Legolas said solemnly, "I swear to you I will throw myself into no unnecessary danger from now on."
Aragorn caressed the Elf's face tenderly. "For our sake and hers," he replied, agreement and promise in one. And he pulled Legolas into a passionate kiss.
In the camp, Gandalf puffed at his first pipe of the day and looked up to see the embracing lovers silhouetted against the rising sun. "Well done, Irmo," he muttered, pleased. "Very well done."
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